Free The Dollmaker's Daughters (Bo Bradley Mysteries, Book Five) by Abigail Padgett Page A

yellowing sycamores and liquidambars of the old neighborhood. If the family needed income enough to rent out the ground floor of their home, she pondered, then what was their motivation for taking in a foster child? The county paid about $450 a month for the care of a child Janny's age. Were the Schroders fostering just for the income? And even if they were, did it matter as long as they were doing a good job?
    Bev Schroder met Bo at the door in crisp black slacks and a sweater knit in Christmas designs. She was almost as tall as Bo and her thick ash-blond hair was short and swept back over earrings shaped like holly leaves.
    "Thank you for coming," she said, showing Bo into a li ving room furnished predominantl y in maple with an artificial Christmas tree in the front window. "This is my husband, Howard."
    Bo shook hands with a slightly paunchy middle-aged man in jeans and a red cotton crewneck sweater over a starched plaid shirt. His brown hair was gray at the temples and thinning over a pink scalp, but his blue eyes seemed young.
    Acutely aware that things are never what they seem, Bo was surprised when she discerned no hidden blips or distortions concerning the Schroders on h er personal radar. Here, apparentl y, things actually were what they s eemed. A nice middle- aged couple who liked "Early American" furniture and took in foster children. With a rush of gratitude she noticed that their Christmas tree lights didn't blink.
    "How is Janny?" she asked after settling into a ruffled navy gingham couch.
    "We let her go out for a hamburger with the Bierbrauer boy," Howard Schroder said as Bev went to get coffee. "That way we could talk to you alone. They'll be back in fifteen minutes or so."
    "Okay," Bo agreed, watching as he straightened a cuff of his immaculately pressed jeans. Then he traced the edge of his chair's armrest with the little finger of his right hand. The blue eyes had stopped meeting Bo's.
    "We're, ah, pretty sure it's not a good idea for Janny to stay here any longer," he said to the beige shag carpet at his feet "Bev didn't know how bad off Janny was when she brought her home from the hospital. And it's getting worse. Frankly, I'm afraid she might hurt somebody."
    The last statement was punctuated by the arrival of Bev, burdened with an aluminum tray of coffee in cups shaped like the head of Santa Claus. The sugar cubes were red, and the cream pitcher was a cow with a red bow at its neck. Bo dropped red sugar cubes into the open skull of a Santa Claus and wondered at th e exquisite choreography of married couples. Had they rehearsed this, or was their timing merely natural?
    "Your husband has just explained that you have some concerns about Janny," she recapped Howard's announcement . Then she waited.
    "Um," Bev replied, pouring cream from the cow's mouth with a trembling hand, "there's really something the matter with her. I mean, ah, well, we don't know anything about this child's background, about her parents. But I've heard it can happen like this. That one day somebody can be just fine, and the next day they're not... right. And they can become violent, you know?"
    Bo felt an invisible hurricane envelop her in the warm, coffee-scented room.
    Breathe from the diaphragm, Bradley, you idiot. You should have known this was coming. Don't overreact and don't tell them you're one of the "they" they're talking about.
    "I can certainly understand your concern," Bo exhaled. "Has Janny exhibited violent behavior in the past?"
    "Oh, no," Howard answered. "She likes to get herself up in these creepy old-fashioned clothes, and the music these kids listen to is pretty awful, but Janny's never even raised her voice around here, has she, Bev?"
    "Of course not," his wife agreed. "But now it seems like she's, well, mentally ill."
    The woman had whispered the words "mentally ill" as though the neighbors might be listening. Bo merely nodded expectantly, as though she were awaiting the conclusion of their train of